


The 1975

by chillsoya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Anal Sex, Art, Bottom Sirius Black, Dom/sub, Drabble, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fights, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Insomnia, Inspired by Music, Kreacher's the family dog, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, Muggle AU, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Parent Death, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Promiscuity, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sleep Deprivation, Smoking, Suicide in later chapters, the 1975
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-04 19:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillsoya/pseuds/chillsoya
Summary: Sirius and Remus meet in a bar.Short chapter fic inspired and based on the first album by The 1975 (aptly titled... The 1975). Each chapter correlates to a track on the album.Tags will be added as I go along





	1. Track 1 - The 1975

**Author's Note:**

> Track One - The 1975.
> 
> Go down  
> Soft sound  
> Midnight  
> Car lights  
> Playing with the air  
> Breathing in your hair  
> Go down  
> Soft sound  
> Step into your skin? I'd rather jump in your bones  
> Taking up your mouth, so you breathe through your nose.

Remus takes his tea with a lot of milk and a lot of sugar.

Sirius takes his coffee black, one sweetener.

Neither of them like mornings. They take busses, alone, to the city centre. They both work in the same chain of coffee shops. The sun comes in the window like syrup - Remus shields his eyes. They don’t work together. Sirius switches on the lights.

The life of the city pumps cars like blood through the streets as veins. 

Sirius Black has never been in love.

The closest thing to love was one morning, waking up watching him cover his eyes with his curls. He looked like a God. Or an angel. Sirius feels the bones of his back like he expects to find wings. His skin is cold. Sirius doesn’t know his name.

Whisky has never tasted good to Remus. He said so when Sirius offered to buy him one. It didn’t matter what brand or if it was over ice.

The only way whisky tastes good to Remus is when he licks it out of Sirius’s mouth.

He knows Sirius’s name. He doesn’t know how to approach him, so he never does. They live separate lives and Sirius hopes every day a tall man around his age, with curly hair, who looks like an angel, will come into his store. That he’ll order a coffee, which Sirius will make perfectly. That he’ll ask Sirius when he takes his break.

Remus doesn’t know where Sirius works. He spends each night toying with the idea of going back to that pub, with the sticky countertop. Where the music, once sleazy, becomes an angel’s choir when he’s listening to Sirius’s voice. He doesn’t remember much else of that night. Just knows sex was on his mind when Sirius held his hand back to his flat, but then it wasn’t. It was on the feeling of their fingers, knotting together. It was on the smell of Sirius’s aftershave, conditioner, skin.

Sex had never been enjoyable to Remus.

Sex was always enjoyable to Sirius, who used it like a sleeping aid. Or a dream catcher. One of the two - maybe both.

Remus never enjoyed sex until Sirius. It was like touching something molten, sinuous. Something that never stopped moving fully. Like putting a hand to a speaker in a concert and realising everything he’s ever experienced came from Sirius’s bones. Could be summed up in the collective pieces of Sirius’s body.

Could be summed up by falling in love with someone he’d never seen before but felt like he’d seen every day of his life. In every piece of art. In every good cup of tea, or coffee. In the smells that made him imagine having a home. In the feeling of falling asleep.

Remus has never enjoyed sleeping. Sirius has never enjoyed sleeping, either. Nightmares.

Now Remus dreams of black hair and the smell of leather. The taste of cigarettes and whisky on someone else’s tongue. The feeling of skin so smooth it could be liquid. The sound of gentle breathing and shifting sheets. 

Sirius dreams of honey and long, ragged scars. He dreams of the feeling of wooly jumpers and calloused fingers. The sound of muted moaning and a body hitting the mattress before he climbs on top. He dreams of tranquility, being held. 

They both dream when they’re still awake.


	2. Track 2 - The City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't call it a fight when you know it's a war.  
> With nothing but your t-shirt on.  
> And go sit on the bed because I know that you want to.  
> You've got pretty eyes, but I know you're wrong.
> 
> Don't call it a spade if it isn't a spade.  
> Go lie on the floor if you want.  
> The first bit of advice that you gave me that I liked was they're too strong, too strong.  
> Get in the shower if it all goes wrong.
> 
> Yeah, if you wanna find love then you know where the city is [4x]
> 
> Yeah counting cards was the best job he ever had.  
> Cleaning up.  
> He got good with his 4′s and his 2′s.  
> Community service was the best job he ever had.  
> Cleaning up.  
> He got sick on the floor and his shoes.
> 
> Oh and she said "It's your birthday,  
> Are you feeling alright?"  
> The next one's the MD.  
> You'll be feeling just fine.  
> Your brother is just sat there,  
> You said you felt snide.  
> You hope that that boy will be alright.
> 
> Yeah, if you wanna find love then you know where the city is [4x]
> 
> Yeah well she said "It's your birthday,  
> Are you feeling alright?"  
> The next one's the MD.  
> You'll be feeling just fine.  
> Your brother is just sat there,  
> You said you felt snide.  
> You hope that that boy will be alright.
> 
> Yeah, if you wanna find love then you know where the city is [4x]

Sirius’s life has always been reckless. He’s had a series of disastrous relationships that he ends pre-emptively because he doesn’t want to commit, or put in the effort. He has friends, of course. He commits to them freely and without inhibition. Sirius Black is a force of nature, as far as they’re concerned.

Sirius didn’t live in the city, or anywhere near one, before. He lived in an elite neighbourhood where everyone drove their cars too slowly so that passersby would know the model and make. He lived with one brother, who his parents loved and adored. Who Sirius also adored. He lived with his parents, who hated him.

His teenage years were an exploration of how far Sirius could push his boundaries. If he could get away with smoking, drinking, taking drugs and bringing people home. What punishments were likely to be inflicted for each.

University wasn’t a choice but a necessity. A reason to move out, to get somewhere. Not that he doesn’t regret leaving his brother. Regulus was his closest friend and only confidante. But Regulus would follow after, or get somewhere better. Reg is clever, smarter than Sirius is, probably. He’ll carve a different path out from under his parents’ thumb.

Sirius didn’t choose a degree or modules based on what would give him a job. That was the first act of rebellion in university life. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’ll drop out before half way through his second year. What matters is making his mark on as many people as possible.

Sirius usually succeeds in what he sets out to do. A lot of people know his face, the feel of his skin and bones married together so tightly. They know that he’s evasive and lascivious and intelligent.

Sirius doesn’t worry about other people too much. Apart from his friends. James holds his hand when he’s sick the morning after. Lily smacks him upside the head for taking things too far. Peter teaches him how to cook, because Sirius is a disastrous chef. Marlene shows him how to style his hair. Dorcas takes him to all the best pubs and bars. Mary helps him repair the rips in his jeans. Frank taught him how to drive, Alice taught him how to ride a motorbike.

Sirius would be nothing without his friends, probably. 

Sirius has taken a lot of Class A drugs. And Class B and C. He smokes heavily. He owns a weed pipe that’s more for display than anything - he argues too much with his dealer, but can’t be bothered to find another. His favourite drink is pina colada. Failing that, whisky - straight. Usually only on bad days. He drinks a lot of coffee and doesn’t sleep a lot.

He has never been in love. But he wants to be, with a boy he met in a pub in the city centre. Dorcas took him and left him so she could finger a girl in the bathrooms. Sirius spent the night at the bar nursing bruised knuckles from a fist fight with a fresher who tried to steal his wallet, two days ago.

He’s pretty sure that boy would rather never see him again.

-

Remus Lupin is bored, detached and nervous. No decision is taken lightly for him. He’s a genuinely friendly person who doesn’t quite now how to show it. Most people like him if they’ll give him a chance. A lot of people see the scar that divides his face in half across the nose and decide he’s not their sort.

One of Remus’s favourite things to do is make up lies about how he got that scar. It makes Lily laugh when he tells her about it. Lily is his closest friend. He talks about bear fights, jumping out of trains, fighting a meat-cleaver-brandishing burglar. Remus is creative and snarky, to a fault. As far as he’s concerned, how he gets his scars is no one’s business.

Remus lives in wooly jumpers. He grew up in the north of Scotland where it’s pretty much always cold. Neither of his parents could drive, so he cycled everywhere. He still does. Lily teases him and says he should be living in Amsterdam, not London.

She’s probably right. London is busy and loud and horrible for his anxiety. Plus, Remus is a secret hypochondriac. Every time he gets a cough he expects the pollution of London’s streets is poisoning him. It is, in truth - but it’s poisoning everyone.

Remus went to University because he needed to get out of Scotland. His parents died a year ago. Everywhere he looks makes him think of them. To be honest, London isn’t much better. He doesn’t expect to finish his degree. Not to say that he doesn’t enjoy Fine Art. It’s just that he’s full of doubt about his talent, no matter how often he’s reassured.

He doesn’t go out a lot. Lily doesn’t, either, which makes him feel a little better. She’s a medical student, though, so she’s usually busy. She volunteers in the hospital every weekend and has a lot of lectures. Remus doesn’t go out because drinking usually makes him nervous.

Remus had his first relationship that year. It ended badly - disastrously, even. Maybe because Remus didn’t enjoy the sex at all. Maybe because he’s snarky to the point that he’s mean. Maybe because the other boy was self absorbed and petty.

It’s probably the only time Lily has ever advocated a night out and she’s not one to say no to. Remus goes with her because of that and that alone. The music is horrific and the bartop is sticky and covered in spilled salt. Lily spots her friend Dorcas coming out of the bathrooms with a girl and laughs, running to see her. Left alone to try and decide what he wants, Remus stands at the bar and bites his lip.

“Whisky?”  
“Definitely not.” He starts off too curt, turns to look at who’s speaking and retracts the harshness.  
“Not your thing, then?”  
“Not really.” His voice is apologetic. The man is young and his hair is dark and a carefully put together mess.  
“No problem. I’m Sirius.”

Sirius is already drunk, probably. Remus wonders if he remembers him at all - probably not. The way that Sirius moved, spoke, breathed told a lot about his experience. It only gives Remus’s imagination too much fuel, taunting him for his own inexperience. That Sirius probably enjoyed forgetting him all too much.

They argued, kind of, when Remus left the next morning. Sirius asked for his number, his name, his anything. Remus was panicking - he had never had a one night stand. He felt confused and ashamed of himself. Angry that he enjoyed it so much, angry that he wanted it again and again. Embarrassed that so shortly after a break up he’s considering falling for someone else.

All Sirius did was call him a dickhead as he pulled the door closed behind him, unable to meet his eyes.

Remus would take that back if he could. He knows he started something impossible to finish by going home with Sirius in the first place. He’d like to finish it, though - or not. To restart it and for it to never end.

“He’s called Sirius. I know him. Do you want me to talk to him?” Lily means well, truly. Remus just grimaces.  
“Don’t tell him about me.”

-

Something has irrevocably changed in Sirius, looking out for one person every single day. On campus, in lectures, at work. He asks Lily about that night because he’s sure she came with him. But she just shrugs and lies. “I came alone.” 

Every time she says it she seems to regret it a little more.

-

“He works in the same chain as you do. Literally just two streets away from your one.” Lily informs him like it’s not a big deal. Remus glares.  
“That’s nice.”  
“It is nice. Because you should go and talk to him.”

Remus wants to ask why, because Lily knows Sirius. Maybe he mentioned him to her? But simultaneously he doesn’t want to know. It would likely lead to the deflation of any hopes that Remus has that things went well between them.

Lily is only pushing him towards Sirius out of kindness and the want for him to get off her back. That’s it. She doesn’t know if Sirius really liked it. She just wants Remus to be happy with someone, anyone. Wants him to stop mooning around, most likely.

Remus sighs and Lily doesn’t bring it back up. They study together in the library then go back to their separate flats.

Remus thinks about going back to the pub, again. He knows he won’t.


	3. Track 3 - M.O.N.E.Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drink slow to feed the nose  
> You know he likes to get blown  
> Has he got enough money to spend?  
> Leave? No. He's to and fro  
> He doesn't like it when the girls go  
> Has he got enough money to spend?
> 
> It's going off cause they're not gonna let him in  
> 2 and a half, the boy is rushing out his skin  
> He's got his charm with the girls that are smoking  
> He takes her arm, jumps the bar and now he's in
> 
> A broken half a glass has opened up his chin  
> He thinks he's hard, a powdered mouth that tastes of gin  
> He's just been barred for that blues he was smoking  
> And then he barks: it's my car I'm sleeping in
> 
> Tabs with unlimited 0's  
> New clothes  
> Bloody nose  
> Powders and walking back home  
> Has he got enough weed?  
> No  
> Broken phone  
> Retching on the floor alone  
> I can't believe that we're talking about him
> 
> "I'm searching you mate, your jaw's all over the place"  
> Can't talk, a quick slap in the face  
> Yes I threw a nut but your friend's a case  
> Why you singling him out? Is it because of his race?  
> "Look, the dog won't bark if you don't lark about"

Sirius sleeps with Marlene because he feels like it and she does too. It’s pretty clear that they both regret it, to different degrees, directly after. But there’s a companionship in their silence after Marlene cleans herself up and they smoke on the bed together.

Marlene knows about the boy he slept with that night. It’s driving her crazy because he sounds perfect and she has no idea who he is. Sirius talks about him a lot more than seems normal, but she won’t burst his bubble about it.

It’s the first time Sirius has slept with one of his friends. He’s not sure how to feel about that. He can’t tell if something is broken that can’t be fixed.

“Why can’t you just be yourself?” Marlene sighs over coffee two days later. Sirius raises an eyebrow.  
“I’m as me as it gets.”

Her venti skinny caramel macchiato, extra hot, isn’t the best one the barista in this branch has ever made. She slept with him last month and he gives her free drinks now. She doesn’t ever return his calls but she won’t say no to free things. She’s a student, afterall.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re all about your image.”

Truth is, it’s been bothering her. She enjoyed the sex, sure - Sirius’s reputation precedes him for good reason. She enjoyed chain smoking afterwards as well, sharing a bottle of rose wine. But when you suddenly know someone intimately, when they show you a piece of their soul… Because it hadn’t been a quick fuck. It had been slow and purposeful and gentle. 

Marlene has noticed that Sirius isn’t ever himself.

“I don’t follow.”  
“‘Course you don’t. You can’t even see it in yourself.”  
“So you know more about me than I do?” Sirius counters, irritable because he got two hours of sleep last night and has a paper due in next week that he hasn’t started.  
“Maybe.”

And maybe she’s right. Sirius spends a lot of time with Marlene and Sirius likes to spend as much time out of his own head as possible. Sirius tries not to reflect on that just now, rolls his eyes and licks cappuccino foam off his upper lip.

“If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.”

Marlene has an inkling that this conversation doesn’t come at a good time and that she should back down. But she’s stubborn and hot headed, so it doesn’t make sense to her to stop.

“You care so much about how you look, even to people you don’t know. Not in the way that people care about how well done their makeup is or what brand they’re wearing. In fact, you care so much that you want everyone to think you don’t care at all.”

She takes a breath, takes a drink and shakes her hair out of her eyes.  
“You’re so affected in everything you do - the way you smoke, the way you drink, the way you flip your hair, the way you walk. You care too much about seeming careless and reckless. You care too much about being quickly put together, yet still a masterpiece. You want to be an enigma, a mystery to everyone. It must be so draining to lie about yourself in everything you do.”

Sirius studies Marlene for a long moment, displeased and bemused. Each word hits home, of course, because Marl has a way with words. He glances behind him when he hears the door open.

“Do you just expect him to walk through the door at every moment? Do you want him to see you and think he’s dreaming? Do you want him to think you’re some sort of angel?”

“Go write a poem about it, Marlene, then you tell me.” He snaps and pushes out of his seat. He feels like a live wire, every movement is abrupt.  
“I’d write a poem about you if you were more authentic to yourself.”

-

Mary tells Marlene she was too harsh. Marlene does not care. She wants to kiss Mary more than she wants to talk metaphors and similes around Sirius Orion Black.

-

To suggest Sirius isn’t authentic is one of the greatest insults to his character he’s ever suffered. Instead of reckoning with it so that he can admit there’s no smoke without fire, he only amps up his ‘inauthentic’ behaviour. 

Every drag of his cigarette sculpts his cheekbones and jawline like he’s made of marble. Every turn of his head moves his hair like he’s a subject of Botticelli. He dazzles everyone with his feline smile and dark eyes. He knows just when to lick his lips to draw their attention to them.

Externally he’s glowing like he’s holy. Internally he’s chafed raw with the truth of Marlene’s words, like they’re made of nails.


	4. Track 4 - Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey now think about what to do, think about what to say, think about how to think  
> Pause it play, pause it play, pause it
> 
> Oh we'll go where nobody knows, with guns hidden under our petticoats  
> No we're never gunna' quit it, no we're never gunna' quit it no

“I want you to sit for me.”

Remus came to Mary’s studio flat around 1 in the afternoon. She brought him back on the bus after their shared lecture on art theory, because he’s hopeless at buses and would probably get lost.

He thought he would spend a couple hours listening to vinyls and watching Mary water her plants and play video games. She sublets the flat from her aunt six months a year, while her aunt goes to California to nurture her business. Remus has never asked what that business is and he isn’t desperately curious. It’s a nice flat, though.

“Are you joking?” His voice cracks. Mary gets up and goes to the kettle to brew another mug of peppermint tea. That’s one of their shared interests, outside studying for the same degree - herbal teas.

Sometimes Remus and Mary buy each other hot chocolates and sandwiches from the uni cafe. They always sit next to each other in lectures and make snide jokes to each other. Their favourite is making fun of Renaissance era’s understanding of anatomy.

“No!” She sounds vaguely offended, but turns to him with a smile. Mary is always smiling. “I really want to paint you. You have such an interesting face.”  
“I dunno that that’s really a compliment.” He grumbles, then moves to change the record onto its second side. They’re listening to Bob Dylan just now.

Remus’s first reaction is, of course, to refuse. Saying no is in his nature. It would make sense, and he’s sure Mary would understand. 

But when he looks at the huge blank canvas she gestured to, propped up in the corner, he’s filled with dreadful curiosity. He’s never posed for anyone before. He’s drawn other people in this way, but never anyone he knows. It might be interesting to see how someone else perceives him - what does Mary see just now as she stares, waiting for an answer?

“Okay.”

It’s worth it for the fact that it makes her happy. Mary jumps up and down in the centre of the room and claps her hands - the mug of tea rattles on the coffee table.

Remus does consider retracting his offer but before it crosses his mind, Mary has gathered up her materials and equipment and is positioning them thoughtfully.

“So I want you naked, obviously.”  
“Does that mean you’ll lose your gold star lesbian medal?” Remus teases to steady himself. Of course he knew that she meant for him to be naked, but he’d been avoiding the fact studiously. Thinking it would make it real.  
“I’ll sacrifice it for you.” Mary winks, plopping down beside him cross legged on the couch. “Anyway, I want to get a feel for you first. Not like that. Just… I’m gonna touch your face and stuff.”  
“Alright.”

Mary’s hands are warm from making the tea and slightly clammy from the humidity of the steam. Remus tilts his chin up and closes his eyes, patiently letting her feel his face. Her fingers are delicate over his scar, feeling the tapered corners and ragged edges. Her expression betrays her curiosity, but she has the tact to keep her questions to herself.

After his face, she takes his hands between hers and maps them out. She looks absorbed in her task like she’s reading his palms. Remus wonders if she’s into that stuff - she has a lot of crystals and house plants around. Maybe that’s just a stereotype, though.

“You can choose the music.” Mary declares as she stands up again, going to the bedroom to change into something she doesn’t mind covering in paint. Remus has been frozen in place for the last fifteen minutes and only moves now to change the record. Bob Dylan has long since finished, ticking rhythmically as the needle bounces on the empty inner rings of the vinyl.

He chooses Elvis, Blue Hawaii. Remus and Mary habitually listen to this one when they’re together, bobbing their heads along with the quick-step beats.

Stripping down is the difficult part, as is to be expected. Mary has pushed a stool from the breakfast bar up against the only undecorated wall - the others are crowded with abstract art and hanging plants.

Mary brings an unfitted bedsheet through to the living room and hands it to him, then turns her back to give him privacy. Remus starts with his jumper, glad there aren’t any mirrors in his direct line of sight. He chucks it onto the sofa, then unbuttons his shirt. Mary steals a glance at him over her shoulder.

“Keep the shirt on - unbuttoned, though. I’ll come over and arrange it in a minute. Forget about the sheet, if you don’t mind.”

Remus minds, obviously, but does as he’s told. He drops his jeans and briefs and sends them soaring over the room to join his jumper. Then he perches on the stool awkwardly with his hands folded in his lap to preserve his modesty.

“Okay, great.” Mary nods, frizzy hair pulled back into a ponytail now. Remus focuses on her freckles instead while she slips his shirt off one shoulder so the bottom hangs loose over his thigh. She unfolds the collar at one end so that his jaw is framed by the white on the side further from her. Then she takes a few steps back, comes forward again to add a couple of purposeful creases for depth, then returns to the canvas.

“I want you to lean over a bit, so that you’re leaning your elbows in your lap… Yep, perfect. Now cross your wrists over. Okay… Rearrange your hands a bit. Just make them comfortable, but have one so the palm’s facing up the way.”

Remus follows the instructions to a tee, using Mary’s leniency to find a way to portray them without getting a sore back. The sun comes in the huge window and shines on his back, keeping him warm. His curls fall in his face and he doesn’t push them back, as per Mary’s direction.

“Tilt your head to the far side from me… Great, and now look down. Perfect.”

Blue Hawaii plays on in the background and Remus dedicates his attention to listening to the songs in depth. The lyrics, tempo and each individual instrument, the tone of Elvis’s voice. He categorically takes it in, intent on avoiding thinking about his current situation. 

Mary sings while she paints even though she frowns consistently throughout the process. Paint flecks add to her freckles and she chats to Remus idly. Just about everyday things, the weather, public transport, what it’s like living in London. Both of them moved here from other places - Remus from Inverness, Mary from Cardiff. They understand each other and how the big city feels more claustrophobic sometimes than any small town.

Mary asks him to tell her something private. Something personal.

“I’ll start.” She offers as she swirls a paint brush in a cup of water. Remus concedes, glancing her way. “When I was twelve I had to go live with my dad instead of my mum. She was drinking a lot She wasn’t abusive to me. But she never seemed to know I was there.”

Remus doesn’t say he’s sorry. He never gives sympathy for these things - he thinks it’s the worst thing he could do. Mary’s face isn’t any different from before, focused as she in on her work. There will be a reason that she’s asking him this.

“Did your dad treat you better?”  
“My dad worked night shift all the time. He’s the only one that would do it - small company. So in one way, yes - he recognised my existence. He put food on the table. I didn’t have to cook for myself anymore. But I didn’t see much of him, either. He had other things on his mind. He still loved my mum. I think I reminded him of her and it hurt him.”

Remus just nods his head and doesn’t ask anymore questions. Mary stops her rapid brushstrokes to stare at him over the top of the canvas.  
“Your turn.”

“Okay.” Remus drops his gaze again, getting back into position for her so that he doesn’t put off her flow. “My parents and I lived in Inverness. My dad’s cousin Isobel had cancer - she was dying. We had to get to Glasgow as fast as possible because the doctors didn’t think she had long left.”

He pauses. There are other stories he could have told, less painful ones. But this is the one he started, and now he has to finish it.  
“It was about a year ago. Mum’s brother said he would drive us - my parents never learned to drive. They were total hippies. It was late and there was a snow storm, black ice everywhere. My uncle was a really careful driver, of course… But we were on the motorway between Aberdeen and Dundee. A lorry driver hit us. My parents died instantly - I was in between them. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and I hit the dashboard face first. It should have snapped my neck - it totally disfigured my nose. But I didn’t die.”

“Is that what caused your scar?” Mary asks after some thought. Remus nods.  
“I needed surgery because they couldn’t reset my nose. It’s also where the scars on my front come from - broken glass and the like.” Remus shrugs and sighs.  
“What about your uncle?”  
“He was in a coma. They switched his machine off not long before I got my university offer.”

The painting is finished two repeats of Blue Hawaii later. The mood was sombre for fifteen minutes or so after their confessions. Then Mary started to talk about Dorcas fingering a girl in a pub bathroom recently.

Remus has never told anyone apart from Lily about his parents. He thought he would feel worse, truth be told. But the mood bounces back so quickly that he’s wondering why he was so worried. Maybe Mary doesn’t understand, but she’s kind and tactful enough to keep him calm. They’re able to banter back and forth about everything and nothing.

It’s probably one of the most memorable meet ups he’s ever had. The painting is beautiful - impasto and warm toned. Remus didn’t expect to like it at all.

What really startles him is the look on his face. He looks nostalgic, thoughtful… He’d expected to look nervous, stilted; like a puppet without its puppeteer. But he looks whole.

Thoughts of being whole or not are difficult for Remus. He gets dressed quickly, accepts a travel mug of peach green tea, then leaves.

That he could be capable of loving himself puts him in an entirely different ballpark.


	5. Track 5 - Sex (EP version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is how it starts  
> Take your shoes off in the back of my van  
> Yeah my shirt looks so good,  
> When it's just hanging off your back  
> there's only minutes before I drop you off  
> All we seem to do is talk about sex  
> And I'm not trying to stop you love  
> If we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck

Marlene sees the painting around half a week later. She’s desperate to kiss Mary, desperate to tangle her hands in her hair and feel her close. She wants the distance between them to be down to bare minimum.

So she comes up with the plan to head to Mary’s flat with her. They’ll smoke weed and Marlene will play vinyls to set the mood. Then maybe, finally, Marl can get off with her.

Honestly, she isn’t certain what her feelings are - if she feels love for Mary or if she’s just infatuated. With the way she smells like plants and peppermints. The way her dark skin reflects the horrible overhead lights in the campus buildings and she somehow still looks stunning, not washed out like everyone else. How they take their coffees the same way.

Sirius ruins it. Of course he does. They haven’t spoken since he stormed out the other day from coffee. She knows she was unkind but something about his attitude just pushed her to be meaner than strictly necessary. Maybe that he seems so self-obsessed and affected. She meant what she said because Marlene is a straightforward person and doesn’t like to sugar coat things. But Sirius is her friend and maybe she should cut him some slack - he had the tact to go down on her and make her cum, so she probably ought to regard him better.

Not that she’d mention that to Mary, who would lecture her on how she shouldn’t be thanking guys for satisfying her sexually when she automatically does that for them during sex.

Marlene isn’t exactly thinking of Sirius when they arrive at Mary’s little studio flat. She’s been watching the sun play through Mary’s hair where it comes through the grimy bus window. She’s been checking her phone too much during the lulls of their conversations.

In fact, Sirius doesn’t pop into her mind until Mary brings the canvas out of the fitted wardrobe.

The boy Mary painted is called Remus Lupin. His degree is fine art. He’s beautiful. His skin is sallow and pale. He’s unusually tall and lanky. But what identifies him to Marlene is the scar across his nose, and the fact that his hair looks like solidified curls of honey.

“Sorry, Mary - I’ve got to call Sirius.”

Mary gives her an inquisitive look then shrugs, heading to the kettle to make herself a rooibos with soya milk and one sugar. Marlene will probably make herself one later.

“Sirius, can you come over?” Marlene bites back the instinct to apologise. She doesn’t want to sound needy or like she regrets being so harsh - that would only tempt Sirius into gloating.  
“I’m not fucking you again, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He’s always so crass. Marlene actually considers hanging up the phone because his comments grate on her so much. The English language is a beautiful one - Marl studies English lit, for God’s sake - and Sirius takes away all of its decorum and elegance. Maybe that sums up who he is as a person. Endlessly elegant, endlessly ripping up other beautiful things.

“No, that’s not what I’m getting at. But I think I’ve found that guy.”

-

Sirius has spent the last half week pretending to study and blaring music so loud his flatmates complain. James called him a broody prat for holing up in the dark instead of coming out with him and Peter to a club. Sirius just rolls his eyes and shuts the door on his face.

Sirius loves James. He’s his best friend and it’s not like him to push him away. James knows it, too, because he must stand outside the door for a solid three minutes before he moves off.

Marlene’s words shook him deeply. He’s been mulling over them ever since he left the coffee shop. To start with he pretended there were no foundations for her comments, until he caught sight of himself laughing with a group of people he barely knows.

Why does everything seem so false now?

He tries to convince himself that it’s because he’s overthinking it that he’s seeing these flaws in himself. That the more he thinks of them, the more they appear. But in truth, he’s always been meticulous about how he appears to others. Now is just the first time that anyone has called him out for it. It’s the first time it hasn’t been received well.

He should have guessed that sleeping with Marlene wouldn’t end well. She’s observant, tenacious, stubborn. Sometimes she’s mean, sometimes she’s overflowing with compassion. It can be difficult to navigate. But Sirius cares for her, in what he now realises is platonic. He didn’t want to disrespect her by giving her sub-par sex. Plus, she’s a gossip - word that his virility is failing him could get around. So he gave her all of him and he performed for her like he was trying to rip out the stitches from a relationship he never had with a boy he couldn’t claim to know.

He acted in such a way that implied there was something he was trying to forget. Then afterwards, he pulled his facade of perfection back on with cigarettes and alcohol with the sheets pooling around his hips.

So when Marlene calls him after days of silence, he wants to insult her somehow. To claim that their friendship had been founded on her want for sex was the only thing he could grasp for. Of course, she shot it down seamlessly. Then she sealed the deal of their reunion by giving him a gift. A promise of information.

Sirius has never been to Mary’s flat but for him, public transport is a breeze. Getting ready to leave, he made a conscious effort to look sloppy. It’ll probably only damn him more in Marlene’s eyes, but it’s his way of an apology for lying to her. For feeling the need to be a fake of himself with her.

He likes Mary’s flat immediately for the feeling of openness, despite the small amount of space. It smells good as all girl-owned flats seem to. She smiles widely at him when he enters and offers him a tea. Compelled to be polite because she’s so charming and well-meaning, Sirius takes a mug of lemon and ginger. 

“Marlene went out to get something for dinner.” Mary explains and Sirius spots the avoidance immediately. “But she said if you got here, to show you my new painting.”

Marlene had made it sound like he would come here to find the boy in the flesh. Instead, she brought him here to view a canvas. He’s filled with irritation to begin with as he waits for Mary to return from the wardrobe with the canvas.

His anger fades quickly when he sees him.

“What’s his name?” Sirius finally asks after minutes of silence. Mary has been watching him with a quirked eyebrow, and smirks.  
“Remus. D’you know him?” She tilts her head, turning to him after propping the canvas against the wall.  
“... Sort of.” Mary’s face is knowing.  
“He mentioned you… Sort of. But Lily said we ought not to bring him up to you.”

Sirius assumes he should be angry with Lily because this would have been so much easier if she hadn’t tried to withhold the information from him. He has good faith that Marlene truly didn’t know anything about Remus, but for the rest… He grinds out a sigh. This can’t get in the way of this positive turn of events.

“He doesn’t want to see me?” He asks the portrait more than Mary, unable to tear his gaze away from that face. Remus looks so pensive. So gorgeous. His hair felt so good between Sirius’s fingers.  
“He does, I think. You should ask him.”

Sirius leaves the flat with Remus’s number and a lightness in his step he hasn’t been able to muster since the start.

Everything from that night is so clear to him now. He remembers bringing Remus back to his flat. He was wearing a maroon wooly jumper and black skinny jeans. When they kissed, he tasted like chocolate and alcohol. They fell into bed with Remus between his legs, still fully dressed. Remus is tall. His eyes are such a light, golden brown that they could be made of amber.

He feels like nothing Sirius has ever felt before. His skin is hot to the touch when they’re fucking. He has scars littered over his torso and Sirius wants to feel them all, to know how they all happened. He’s rough and demanding, yet so unbelievably generous with his attentions.

Sirius needs to call Remus Lupin right now.


	6. Track 6 - Talk!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do you talk so loud?  
> Why do you talk so?
> 
> Passing grammatical mistakes  
> Totally wrecked and polemic in the way he talks  
> Vocal sabbatical, delayed by churning out the same  
> I think you're trying too hard with your lungs in tar  
> And your kitchen full of pop stars
> 
> And I've been thinking lots about your mouth  
> A conversation superseded by the way he talks  
> I'd be an anchor but I'm scared you'd drown  
> It's safer on the ground

Remus’s first thought about Sirius when they meet again is that he’s loud.

They meet in Hyde Park near the Serpentine. It’s not very busy, for once. That could be because it’s freezing out. London has had rain, rain, rain and nothing but for a while.

Apparently Sirius didn’t get that memo because when Remus reaches him, he’s dressed in skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket - no hood. His hair is soaking, half plastered to his face and his shirt is sodden. As if only just realising that he’s in disarray, he pushes his hair back from his face and smiles.

“‘Lo, Remus.”

God, his voice is so loud. But it sounds so good.

Remus considered rejecting the phone call from the number he’d never seen before. But he was bored and lonely - anything is better than nothing. Hearing Sirius on the other end of the line was the last thing he expected. His first thought was of who gave Sirius his number, but that information was handed to him on a plate.

He didn’t think to suspect Mary. He probably should’ve. 

“Hi.”  
“Before we get started, I’ve got a request.” Remus raises an eyebrow at the unusual conversation starter. Sirius is smirking. “If you’re going to go running off on me, give me some warning.”

Sirius has a wide, beautiful mouth. His lips look soft and are pigmented like a rose study by Catherine Klein. Remus can’t stop staring at them. His eyes are pewter.

Remus has a crooked, perpetually moving mouth. His lips are like ripe fruit. Remus has hair like honey, like chestnuts, like sunny autumn days and slow mornings. His presence feels like comfort and home and fate.

They have drinks in a cafe. Remus takes his tea with a lot of milk and a lot of sugar. Sirius takes his coffee black, one sugar.

Remus spends a while picking faults in Sirius, who takes it well. Remus doesn’t like that Sirius drinks a lot, smokes a lot, is excessive with his drug intake. He thinks Sirius should really consider his health. Sirius laughs and brushes his concerns off because Remus could say anything and Sirius would find it utterly charming.

Sirius spends a while making fun of Remus, who grumbles a lot about it. Sirius thinks Remus is ridiculous for disappearing the morning after. He thinks Remus had no need to obscure his number and name by convincing their mutual friends not to pass it on. He still thinks Remus is a bit of a dickhead. But in a good way. Remus just rolls his eyes and gives Sirius the finger because Sirius could say anything and Remus couldn’t hate him for it.

“We work two streets away from each other. In the same chain.” Remus informs Sirius, having relaxed enough not to perpetually hold his mug in front of the lower half of his face.  
“What a coincidence.”

Sirius doesn’t really think it’s a coincidence. Everything about this seems perfectly aligned.

-

They do this a few times. Sirius tries not to fake himself for Remus. Remus tries not to hold Sirius at arm’s length.

Remus makes a few key observations about Sirius. The first is that he’s horribly insecure and that he would never admit it. His movements and speech are characterised by a series of affectations that are meant to act as armour. The second is that Sirius is terrified of abandonment, but has no reservations about abandoning others. That is, apart from his friends. The way he holds to Remus’s every word, the way he’s quick to please and tries to be overly generous. Remus can tell Sirius is trying to display only his best for fear of being left.

The third observation is that Sirius is beautiful, in a wrecked and abstract way. There’s the beauty of his looks, which anyone could confirm for you. But his character is so thoroughly obscured that the beauty in finding it is undeniable.

Remus thinks he might be in deep.

Sirius has categorically been making observations about Remus and he has a few solidified in his mind. The first is that he’s carrying a lot of baggage with him. The way his shoulders sag, the way he can’t hold eye contact for any extended time - Sirius knows a secret, or several, when he sees one. The second is that Remus has little to no self regard, shown by the fact that he’s constantly covering his weaknesses with overdoses of sarcasm, sass and snark. His sharp edges are all artificial and meant to ward off the fainthearted.

Sirius is not fainthearted.

The third observation is that Remus is perfect for him. That they don’t chafe in the way they work together. They make sense together, even. Remus’s scars might be jarringly dark on his fair skin, but more jarring is that he can’t see even a hint of his own beauty. Sirius wants to show it to him.

Sirius is definitely in deep.

He’s falling over his words, making grammatical mistakes his mum would slap him for. He’s talking like he’s trying to purge something from himself, like if he can’t get these words out he won’t be able to breathe. 

Remus is withholding himself, careful and thoughtful. He’s fixated on everything about Sirius. He can barely speak for wanting to listen to what Sirius might have to say next.


	7. Track 7 - An Encounter

Remus is in Sirius’s flat.

Sirius is standing at the window, with it propped open on latch, chain smoking.

They’ve been arguing, sort of. Sirius has Marlene’s words echoing in his head again. That Remus might find truth in them makes him feel sick and empty all at once.

“You don’t have to act different with me.”

The room is so still. Sirius’s record player is broken. He’s using a chipped mug without a handle as an ashtray. Remus counted them earlier - there are seventeen cigarette butts. He asked Sirius when he last emptied it.  
Yesterday.

“I don’t. I’m trying to be exactly as I am.”

Sirius saw his dealer the other night and spent a lot of money on a lot of weed. Not too much, though. His nerves are very high.

He’s been reading a lot of poetry because Remus likes poetry. Remus likes Allen Ginsberg so Sirius bought everything the bookshop had of his work.

“You’re not. You’re acting different. You’re trying to be someone else.”  
“You barely know me.”

Remus can admit it hurt more than it should have. That doesn’t mean he feels like repairing the bridge between them right now when Sirius is the one who put a fracture in it.

He won’t risk injury for Sirius. He has tried not to give much of himself to the other boy, for his own safety. He’s tried to protect himself as best as he can.

He wants more than this stasis they’re in. Sirius is at the window. Remus is sitting on the bed. He’s been in this bed before.

“Do you want to know me?”

There’s danger in Sirius’s tone as he turns around in his personal cloud of smoke. Remus watches as the smoke wafts out of the window so he can read his expression.  
Go with your gut.

“Yes.”

The first kiss, after all the other kisses that don’t count because not everyone involved remembers clearly, is soft. It’s hesitant and chaste. Sirius leans down over Remus and touches their lips together like he just wants to feel Remus there. Like it’s what’s meant to happen now.

Remus kisses back because he needs to. Because Sirius’s kiss has been echoing through him for over a week. Because everything he’s ever experienced has been through Sirius, somehow. Like Sirius commands the air that Remus is surrounded by. Because every feeling Remus has ever felt resonates from Sirius’s bones.

Because if the fairytale sparks and fireworks and bells ringing were at peace with reality, they would be there.

As it stands, it’s extremely pleasant. Sirius tastes like ash and toothpaste. Remus tastes like toffee and sweet tea. Remus watches Sirius’s eyelashes flutter over his cheekbones. Sirius catches him watching and smirks against his lips.

The light is fresh. The kiss is reviving. Sirius feels like air and freedom. Remus feels like everything in his mind is melting away to leave behind only thoughts of Sirius.

They merge in harmony. Everything is new.


	8. Track 8 - Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cause I remember that I like you  
> No matter what I found  
> It's just you and I tonight  
> Why don't you figure my heart out?  
>  look at my hair  
> God, I love the way you love yourself  
> Your obsession with rocks and brown  
> And fucking the whole town's  
> A reflection on your mental health
> 
> You got something to say?  
> Why don't you speak it out loud, instead of living in your head?  
> It's always the same.  
> Why don't you take your heart out, instead of living in your head?

Remus can’t claim to know Sirius very well. He likes to be honest with himself, so when his mind turns to falling in love he forces himself to take a pause. How can you love someone without knowing them? Of course there’s the adoration of celebrities and there’s obsession and infatuation. But love withholds itself - emulated in many ways, certainly, but never truly replicated.

Remus wants to fall in love with Sirius, but he’s scared about what that would mean.

It seems that their second nature is to argue. They argue about small things, for the most part. How you should drink coffee, what bars are the best. Remus takes Sirius’s bait every time, because Sirius likes to argue and Remus likes to pander to him. Even if the argument is about something only one of them know a thing about, both will play their parts to a tee.

Sirius likes to argue because he wants to give Remus a good reason to leave him if he has reservations. Sirius himself is confident that Remus is what he wants and needs. But insecurity and experience teaches him that it might not be the case vice versa. Remus seems honest, yes, but also like he wouldn’t want to hurt a fly. Sirius isn’t holding back in showing his interest. Remus might feel like he can’t escape.

So Sirius picks fights so that Remus can find his flaws in a non-incriminating way. So that Remus can back out if that’s what’s right for him.

Remus and Sirius have taken to spending a fair amount of time with each other this last fortnight. All of their friends are pleased because even a week with them being bratty, grumpy, distracted is enough. All of their friends are similarly convinced that they make a good couple.

Remus isn’t so sure. He feels like Sirius is too argumentative. That maybe he’s doing it on purpose to push Remus away.

“Maybe I should go.” Remus sighs, making to stand up. He and Sirius are lounging on the bed and Sirius just picked an argument about how ethical wool for clothing is. Remus feels tired and drained. It feels like Sirius wants him to leave, so he’ll give him that.

He doesn’t want to leave. The thought of it his abhorrent to him. To spend all his time with Sirius would be ideal. But he can’t do this right now - can’t keep squabbling with Sirius over nothing. He wants them to be happy but today the effort is dragging.

“No!” Sirius launches himself up before Remus is even half way out of the bed. He holds Remus down to the bed by crawling onto his lap, his apology already written on his face. “Please don’t go.” 

It’s not in Sirius’s nature to beg. Usually he either gets what he wants, or he doesn’t. He’ll pursue things, but he won’t grovel. Remus is granting him a lot of firsts, it seems.

“Sirius…” Remus brings his hands up to Sirius’s shoulders like he’s going to push him off. Sirius grinds himself down, catching Rem off guard and ripping a moan from him. “Stop.”

When Remus’s voice goes hoarse and gravelly, Sirius wants to be good and do everything he’s told. It always goes straight to his crotch. But even if the tone gives away that Rem doesn’t mean it, Sirius won’t push his boundaries.

“I’m sorry, Remus.” Sirius moves to sit against the footboard with his knees to his chest. Rem watches him with a raised eyebrow, trying to appear angry. Why is everything Sirius does so endearing?  
“Why are you sorry?”

It feels kind of kinky, in truth. Like they’re playing into their roles of the dominant and the submissive. They haven’t had sex again, yet. But that shouldn’t be on Remus’s mind - he’s trying to fix their relationship right now, not fuck Sirius into the mattress or be in any way tempted to.

“I… I made you mad. I don’t want you to go.”

It sounds so pathetic and Remus is reminded of his earlier observation; Sirius is terrified of abandonment. Rem sighs and shuffles back onto the bed so they sit opposite each other, making clear that he doesn’t intend to run off. He promised to give Sirius warning.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Sirius, but you’re always trying to argue. I don’t get it - I was going to leave because I thought that’s what you wanted.” Sirius winces and looks off to the side. “I thought you were doing your best to push me away. You know you can just tell me what you want, right?”

Sirius fiddles with the ends of his hair and avoids eye contact. He’s been thoroughly called out for his well-meant bullshit and now he has to explain himself. He already feels embarrassed and suddenly, for probably the first time ever, he doesn’t know what to say.

Remus sees Sirius shaking like a leaf, sees his lower lip wobbling. When Sirius finally meets Remus’s eyes, they’re pathetic and imploring like a puppy.

Rem sighs, caving in. He reaches out for Sirius, letting him crawl into his arms. Laying the other boy down next to him, they lie on their sides and watch each other carefully.

“Sirius… You can talk to me.” Remus strokes his face with the back of his hand. Sirius feels reassured and like Rem totally owns him all at once.

“I thought you maybe had reservations about me… Like, maybe you’d want to leave me. I wanted to give you an excuse. You’re always so nice and I didn’t want you to feel bad about it… So I argued with you a lot, about everything. So that you had a way out.”

Remus is completely incredulous - this is hardly what he was expecting. His body feels heavy like he’s going to sink into the bed. He can see Sirius squirming, pink-cheeked and anxiously awaiting a reply of some sort. An encouragement.

“My only reservation about you was that you always argued with me.” Remus grins, moving to brace himself on top of Sirius. His hands are either side of Sirius’s head he stares up at him so beautifully, so surprised and pleased…

“So you’re definitely my boyfriend, then?” Sirius asks after a lot of kissing and touching and pent up frustration.  
“Will one answer start an argument?” Remus teases, tracing Sirius’s cheekbone with one finger.  
“Yep.”  
“I’m definitely your boyfriend.”  
“Good. Nice save.”


	9. Track 9 - Settle Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But you're losing your words  
> We're speaking in bodies  
> Avoiding me and talking 'bout you.  
> But you're losing your turn  
> I guess I'll never learn  
> 'Cause I stay another hour or two.
> 
> For crying out loud, settle down!  
> You know I can't be found with you  
> We get back to my house  
> Your hands, my mouth  
> Now I just stop myself around you.
> 
> And you're cold and I burn  
> I guess I'll never learn  
> 'Cause I stay another hour or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content ahead

Remus is terrified of the commitment he’s making, but in a good way - probably.

Sirius is nothing like his last boyfriend. Sirius cares about him, wants to be around him, wants to know him as well as possible. They spend a lot of late nights just talking. Remus had expected, considering how they began, that Sirius would be sex-obsessed. But he’s patient - he can sense Remus’s reluctance to move any further. So they talk about everything, about their lives.

Sirius’s parents were abusive. They loved his little brother, but not him. Sirius’s family hated him, apart from Regulus. Sirius came to university to get away from there and intends to never go back.

Sirius isn’t at all afraid of this commitment. Marlene says it’s a miracle. He says that it’s what should be expected. Maybe he’s been afraid of committing to people in the past, but they were all the same. Ordinary and not spectacular. Remus is something different, something beautiful. Sirius can’t get enough of him and he’s not afraid to show it.

Sirius has always had nightmares, but when Remus is there he sleeps a little closer to easily. He thought it could only be done by exertion of a sexual nature, by achieving climax - hopefully numerous times. But Remus’s presence alone is like so much chamomile tea and it feels good. Sirius feels brand new.

Remus’s parents were killed in a car crash a year ago - it could have killed Remus too, but it didn’t. Remus came to university to get away from there and intends to never go back.

Sirius and Remus are like balms on each other’s mental health issues. It’s clear to them both that these are problems that can’t be fixed by one another, but they can be eased in ways. Remus benefits from the physical affection and presence of an extrovert. Sirius benefits from the reminder to slow down and reassurance that he can be himself.

It’s several months later of harmonious living that Remus finally invites Sirius back to his flat. Before, he wasn’t keen to because his flat was tiny and messy and dingy. Now, he’s moved into a new flat with Mary, Dorcas and Marlene. They are all very keen for Sirius to visit.

Sirius is horny. He really, really wants Remus to fuck him. He’s been dreaming about it, touching himself over it, fantasizing about it. It’s ruining his concentration. So when Remus invites him back to his flat, he sees a green light and seizes it.

All Sirius knows about that night is that he’s staying over and that Marlene, Dorcas and Mary will all be there. He’d prefer for them to be alone but he’ll take whatever he can get. Remus won’t see him during the day because he needs to tidy up, so Sirius decides to tidy himself up too.

He makes Lily help choose his outfit. It needs to look good, like he’s trying but not too hard. Lily rolls her eyes at his stress and reminds him that Remus would probably drool over him if he was wearing a bin bag.

In the end he chooses a huge, loose fit dark grey t-shirt. It slides off one shoulder when he arranges it right. With it, he pairs skinny jeans - what else? - with tears over the legs that flaunt his skin.

Sirius packs a bag for the night, which is unusually organised. Extra boxers, lube, condoms, a housewarming gift for Remus. The gift is neatly wrapped thanks to Lily. It took him a long time to choose it, but he went for a massive set of oil paints and a brand new, beautiful fold-down easel, all from well respected companies. He wonders if he went over the top, but tries not to overthink it.

He’s wearing his best boxers. He shaved his legs. He spent five minutes flossing and a further ten brushing his hair - don’t even ask about the styling. Sirius is serious about getting laid.

“Hey, love.” Remus looks rumpled and beautiful when Sirius arrives, wearing joggers and a t-shirt. It actually looks like he might have just woken up. “Come in.”

“Were you napping?” Sirius asks after he takes off his boots and leather jacket at the door, glancing around the long hallway curiously. He’s never been invited to Remus’s place before.  
“Um… Maybe? Is that a bad thing?” Sirius just laughs and rolls his eyes.  
“No. You look adorable.”

The girls went crazy cleaning the communal areas for Sirius’s arrival - or, rather, Mary did and she coerced Marlene and Dorcas into helping. They both know Sirius a lot better and only see this as a big deal because it’ll give them ammo to tease Remus. Furthermore, they know Remus’s plan for the night.

They’re ordering in Thai food and Sirius is psyched because Lily doesn’t like take-away so he doesn’t get it often. He hates eating alone.

Time seems to go by so slowly while they wait for the food, then when they’re eating, and then when they’re socialising. Sirius wants to drag Remus back to his room so he can get fucked hard and maybe, finally settle down.

“Remus, I’m tired… Can we head to bed?”

It’s less than subtle because everyone knows Sirius doesn’t sleep a whole lot and there’s a very low likelihood that he’s actually tired.

Remus doesn’t mind because he’s been staring at Sirius’s collar bones and shoulder blades and neck all night. He can’t stop making poetry out of his lips and hair and eyes. He wants to touch Sirius all over, feel him under his fingers at last. It’s been so long.

“Night, boys.”

The thing is that Remus would be mortified if the girls heard them fucking. He tried to find a night when they would all be out but when Dorcas heard it was for him to bring Sirius over, she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s pretty much a voyeur and Mary and Marlene are curious enough to buy into her plan to make themselves totally available to stay in the house all the time until Remus gets it over and done with.

So when Sirius slams Remus up against the door so rough that it must reverberate through the walls, the minute it closes, Rem is already hitting the panic alarm.

“Shh, shh!” Remus urges, disconnecting from Sirius’s hungry mouth with a rough jerk. Sirius glares, full of venom.  
“No. I want you, Remus, now.”  
“I-... I, uh, I want you too! But, um, the girls…” Remus is already flushing under the heat of his boyfriend’s gaze, so unbelievably turned on by his take-no-shit attitude that he’s already near enough half hard in his sweats.  
“Who gives a fuck? I want you. I’ll do anything for you, so just… Please…”

How can Remus say no to that?

Sirius has never enjoyed getting thrown down on the bed more. Suddenly he’s naked and Remus’s hands are everywhere at once, covering him in heavy touches that make him burn up. It’s unreal, the depth of want he feels right now - he wants everything Remus has to give, with no holds barred.

Remus never used to enjoy sex. He just couldn’t find the appeal. But when Sirius is splayed out underneath him like some coveted god, so dark yet so pale, so needy and eager… Remus finds it very appealing - so appealing that it’s driving him crazy. His mouth can’t move fast enough, he can’t map out enough of Sirius’s skin with his teeth and tongue with each passing minute. The room is heady with tension, pressure, desire.

“Remus, please.” Sirius begs, and he’s not subtle about it. Remus thinks to quiet him for a minute because his bedroom door doesn’t lock and it would be very convenient if one of the girls suddenly found a reason to come in for something now. But Sirius’s mouth is so pretty and so giving that the only way he can bear to quiet him is by letting him wrap his lips around his cock and put his tongue to better use.

The heat is frighteningly good. It pulls all Remus’s concentration to Sirius’s head between his thighs, the feelings that are thrilling up his spine. He can’t worry about anything outside of this. And suddenly Sirius isn’t there anymore, he’s sitting up and Remus lets out a guttural whine like he wants to drag him back down immediately.

Sirius opens up like a flower to him, carefully prepared. Remus watched the process intently, unable to decide if he ought to be more transfixed on watching Sirius’s fingers scissoring himself or his face, flushed like a dozen roses to each cheek, lips wet and gasping.

It has never felt like this before.

Thoughts of being quiet are gone. Remus can barely breathe, enveloped in Sirius - Sirius’s warmth, the way he feels, the way he smells and how he sounds each time he rocks his hips, pulls up, sinks back down. He watches him rising and falling, riding him so slowly, cruelly slow. He can’t take it.

This time - this time he’s certain - is Sirius’s favourite ever getting-thrown-down-onto-the-bed experience. He has never been fucked this hard, this fast, this deep - Remus is fucking huge. He feels every piece of himself giving way, becoming primal and desperate, begging for more. Maybe begging hadn’t been in Sirius’s nature until recently, but he’s learning quickly.

Remus’s hand is between them, touching Sirius like he’s been dreaming about for god knows how long. Every moment is too much but not enough and Sirius wonders if maybe he’s dying. Why has it never felt this good before? Does he even care?

He cums so hard with Remus inside of him, fucking him mercilessly, hitting the right spot every time. And feeling Sirius cumming over his hand, onto his stomach, feeling Sirius tense around him, Remus is thrown over the edge so abruptly he stops breathing. They come so much in synchrony that it’s fit for a movie - nothing has ever been this perfect.

Sirius is panting, sweat dripping down his chest and slicking his hair. Remus’s back is damp as Sirius’s hand runs over it, holding onto him like his life depends on it, keeping him inside of him just a little longer. It’s beautiful. He feels like he’s ascended, somehow, that he’s floating.

Remus can’t stop touching Sirius, even though he’s just spent all of his energy on him. His hands need to find purchase anywhere they can on his skin as they lie facing one another. Sirius is flushed carmine, his lips are bruised, his body is shaking. Remus, again, looks god like, angel like, holy. Like he could pull the breath straight out of Sirius’s lungs, like he could stop his heart beating, with a gesture. With a look, even.

And suddenly Remus smirks, tilts his head a little, lets his eyes drink Sirius in.  
“What do you say?” He taunts, running his tongue over his teeth. Sirius bites his lip and bats his lashes.  
“Thank you, Remus.”  
“You are very welcome, love.”


End file.
